


Wander On

by Ladyboo



Series: Darlin' and the Doctor [6]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Realities, Baby Jim, M/M, post-death, sad daddy George
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyboo/pseuds/Ladyboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death happened in the blink of an eye, so quickly that he didn't even have time to think about it. One instant, he heard Winona crying, and the next, he was just gone. And he could see everything that his little boy could ever be, and the sight of it all was almost too much to bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wander On

**Author's Note:**

> So, felt like doing a thing, because I was listening to this song **_https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70VlAyEUXYM_** and just decided that I needed to. So, have some feels, and tell me what you think?  
>  This isn't what I'm supposed to be writing, shh!  
>  **The rape and the underage are glossed over, really, no details, but the warning still stands**

He could barely hear it.

Over the sound of Winona’s crying, over the thrum of the shuttle’s engine and the jostle of panicked speech.  There was so much noise, so much rushing through his ears and thrumming through him into his fingertips.  And somehow, he still heard it.

A quiet whimper of a sound, a weak wobbling note, and it could so easily have been lost to him, beneath the rest of that noise.  He almost missed it… but it was _there_ and even with the panic that had settled into his bones, the fear in his heart, George now felt like he would cry for an entirely different reason.  That sniveling baby was his.  He was his child, his son, and he would never get to hold him; would never get to see him grow.

He smiled at Winona though, watched as she held the little blotch faced bundle, and he almost started sobbing himself as they spoke of names. 

There were so many questions he wanted to ask, about his tiny son; so much he wanted to know.

But Winona was crying, and he had no time, and he watched as her face disappeared in a shower of white static, and everything was gone.

Space though, space was still there, even though the things he saw now weren’t what he remembered them to be, from before; the galaxy and the people within it were suddenly so different.  His body was gone, his consciousness was free, and it was riveting, nauseating, the limitlessness of what he now knew; what he now understood.  A distant memory of a ship exploding, a woman that had been his wife crying… but so many possibilities stretched out around him now, so many universes and dimensions that he hadn’t imagined could exist.

-

Five:  Winona married a sour breathed man with too many scars on his knuckles and a bite to his speech.  He recognized Sam even after so many years, growing up and into himself, looking so much like Winona that it hurt; made him ache.  A thin toddler stared up at the drunk, though, and Winona was nowhere in sight and the house dark, the walls dirty.  Those too blue eyes, so like his own had been, were easy to recognize and his baby was a brave little thing.

Thirty-four:  Pale alien mint and Terran suntan skins, so different from his son’s, pressed against Jim’s flesh, weighing him down into the bed where he lay.  Soft puffs of breath came from the lips of a Vulcan called Spock, against his throat; a slight trickle of drool from the Terran called Leonard against his shoulder, but his baby didn’t seem to care.  Instead, he lay there in the dark, fingers flickering on a tablet that George couldn’t read, and quiet happiness bubbled on his breath.

Twenty:  His son sat stiff on a grand chair fashioned from mahogany and rich, crimson crushed velvet.  His blue eyes were distant, his mouth a firm line, and his Jim looked so weighed down under the white-gold crown that sat upon his wheaten hair.  His boy looked to one side, dismissed the person trying to speak to him with a flick of his wrist, and his body seemed swallowed up by the throne that he sat upon, the crown that he wore.

Thirteen:  Sharp fingernails pulled at his son’s skin, and Jim’s eyes were sunken blue shadows hidden in the bruises of his face.  His body was stretched thin from starvation, his lips wore a feral snarl, and there were tiny children that clung to his son, just as hungry as he.  Jim snapped at the hazy shape of a man, spreading his arms and straightening his shoulders to protect the other children.

Twenty-five:  Jim wore a sharp toothed grin and a phaser on his hip; burn marks and scars upon his golden skin.  His hair was past regulation length, his clothes far from a Starfleet uniform, and he looked as loose limbed as any vision of him had ever appeared.  The Vulcan by his side was long haired and just as lethal as he sipped soft kisses across Jim’s throat; ‘kill on contact’ citations carried like badges of honor with their names, their ship and crew branded as smugglers, thieves.

Ten:  His baby slouched, thin and underdressed, a cigarette between his lips and smoke dark liner around his eyes.  The stain of prostitution dripped off his slender body like water, and he tilted his hips at the money-soaked man that stopped at the mouth of his alley.  Sweet sex words slipped from his tongue and his lashes batted thick, curving toward the other man with a swaying dance of subtle motion.

Twenty-two:  A pinstripe suit lay sleek against his son’s skin, a gun hung heavy between his fingertips.   Blacklist badge tucked away within his wallet and blood splattered in his hair.  Bullet holes decorating his skin, Jim ground out words over the comm link from an ear piece and gave a wet, bloody toothed grin in answer to the response he heard.

Eighteen:  The bar was painted in sepia tones, windowless and its air was thick with cigarette smoke. Whiskey and moonshine burned Jim’s belly, and his head tipped back with a laugh as he danced with the brown haired man that dragged his fingers against his skin.  Prohibition in an era that he didn’t recognize painted his baby’s breath, and Jim danced with a Southern man who called him _Darlin’_.

His son was a King, a Captain, a lover and a whore.  He gave his body to protect those around him and spread his legs to feed himself and his children.  His fingers pulled triggers and his orders snapped necks.  He was a pirate, an agent, crying into a kiss and laughing at death.  Jim was anything and everything, things that he surely shouldn’t have been, and he was a babe born in space that would forever live in his father’s shadow. 

If the dead could cry, George would have, because the remembered echo of his soul burned with a grief that he couldn’t really feel.  His baby was so much without him, a man that he would never get to know, and a child that he could never hold.  A burning soul, and a razor sharp mind with an unquenchable hunger.

George watched the lives that his baby could live, the possibilities upon possibilities that he would never know, and every piece of his being wanted to weep, from where it lay scattered to the solar winds.


End file.
